


Memory Den Blues

by reddish



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Drabble, Other, second meetings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 03:20:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5650726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddish/pseuds/reddish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter is avoiding facing her life, stuck in the memories of the brother she lost in the shooting in Vault 111. Hancock has some friendly advice to get her back out into the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory Den Blues

**Author's Note:**

> My world operates from a slightly alternate canon: Winter is a veteran who had returned home to live with her older brother, Asher, to help him with his new son while Asher's husband was called back to active duty. They were in Vault 111, and the rest proceeds as usual, with Winter being Shaun's aunt instead of his mother. Not sure if I really intend for this to be part of a series or anything yet, but wanted to post it, thus the lack of ship tags.

The dank air of the Memory Den seeped in through the cracks as the lounger opened, and the sour smell of dust and rot filled Winter’s nose, a stinging, unquestionable signal that she was back even before she could open her eyes.

Maybe she had enough for one more round. Just… anything to get her away from here. She had nowhere to be, anyway. And Goodneighbor… well, it offered a lot of nobodies a lot of nowhere to be.

Winter fished around in her leather satchel, attached firmly at her hip. It jingled, but just barely. It wasn’t going to fly her anywhere. Shoulders sagging, she sat at the edge of the lounger and looked over her possessions to see if there was something, anything, she could dump at Daisy’s for a few caps.

“Oh, I know _that_ look. You’ve probably had enough, kid.”

Winter whipped her head around to find the intruder, ready to snap. The shock of red on Hancock’s coat stunned her for a second, and her death grip on the side of the lounger relaxed somewhat.

“What are you doing here?” Winter demanded, a bit more hostile than she planned. Whatever. She’d roll with it.

Hancock didn’t appear fazed. He pulled up a seat next to her, giving Winter a chance to scan the room. They were alone, mostly. Kent and Irma were in their respective rooms, and Amari was tending to the machine that had just completed Winter’s run.

Her eyes settled back onto the ghoul. He was smirking. The lines on his face that weren’t due to radiation suggested he did that a lot.

He cleared his throat. “For one, I’m the Mayor, so I can go wherever I like, whenever I like. It’s part of the deal. For two, maybe I like to liven up my nights with some flashbacks, too. It ain’t that unheard of, right?”

“What, you have fond memories of days before the bombs too?”

He laughed. “Because I’m a ghoul? Nah. I’m less than a quarter Daisy’s age, though you wouldn’t know it from looking at her radiance, am I right?”

Winter blinked. “I thought…”

“A lot of folks do, I get it. And hey, you haven’t pointed or stared or asked me what happened, so I’ll cut you some slack and just let you know: It can happen to any of us, even today. Just takes a ton of radiation and even more being too stubborn to die.”

“Oh. Christ.”

“I personally excel at that last point. You?”

Winter laughed. It was bitter, but still a nice reminder. “Yeah. I guess I fucking do.”

“I figured. So that leads me to ask: What are you doing here, kid?”

“I’m not a ‘kid’, no matter how old you are.”

Hancock raised his hands. “Whoa, all right. Not your first rodeo, I hear ya. But you’re new around here. Settle in, and we’ll see about changing the nicknames.”

Glancing around the room, Winter breathed out slowly and tried to ignore the tension clawing at her shoulderblades. “I’ve been here more than anywhere else since I woke up. This isn’t settled enough for you?”

“This,” he gestured at her, “is what we call ‘drifting.’ You come into town, find the high that suits your taste, and crash here while you do just enough to keep chasin’ it? You’re a drifter.”

“So? Your town is full of those. What’s so bad about that?”

He shrugged. “We’ve all been there, and I ain’t shaming it. But when we met, I got the distinct impression you had more to do than sleep in the street and burn out trying to relive your glory days. And I know the look on your face when I came in here. ‘Do I really _need_ these shoes?’ isn’t a question we ask when we’re at our best, you feel me?”

“You’re the worst drug kingpin I’ve ever met.”

“Met a lot of us, huh?”

“None who dressed like you.”

Hancock laughed again, and his face lit up when he did so, but he looked tired shortly after. She could relate. “All right, sure. I take a cut of the business around here, and I have an interest in it continuing. But I want this place to be what people want it to be.  And… well, it can chew you up, if you don’t know what you want from it. Too many good folks come in and don’t leave because of it. What kind of Mayor am I being if I let that go unchecked?”

“I’m not going to overdose on memories,” Winter argued, narrowing her eyes at him. “Why do you care?”

“Maybe,” he said with a sly grin, “I’m just being neighborly.”

“Bullshit,” Winter rolled her eyes.

Hancock sighed. “Look, this is a special place. Irma and Amari, they do good work here.” He leaned forward, his hands clasped together between his knees. “But see, kid, they don’t make Fixer or Addictol for this shit. Nostalgia ain’t just a chem. It’ll rot you from the inside out, because nothin’ out here is ever going to be as good as it is in there.” With that, he tapped the side of her head with a finger.

She blinked and bit down on the inside of her mouth to keep from speaking. Or crying. Who knows.

“I fucking hate it out here,” she hissed, grinding her teeth. “I’m not this pathetic, I’m just sick of all of this shit.”

Hancock waved a hand. “I don’t waste my time on pathetic people. Besides, maybe I have a job for you, get you back out on your feet. You know. All selfless-like.”

“Everyone wants something,” Winter feigned a sigh that was slightly heavier than she felt. She smiled thinly at Hancock. “What can I do for you, your majesty?”

He winked at her barb. “I’m hearing weird reports about this art gallery downtown, and it’s spookin’ our regulars away. I’ve sent a few folks out to investigate, but they ain’t coming back with much, or at all.”

“Art gallery? The hell? This had better be a real fucking job, not some weird pity assignment. I’m tougher than I look.”

Hancock paused, giving her a long once-over. “... Well, remind me not to get on your bad side, then. But no, this is a real job. One I’m tired of throwing my own people at.”

“Drifters aren’t your people, huh?”

“Do a few jobs for me, and we’ll see if that changes.” His smile was charming, but she wasn’t buying it.

“I’m not a fucking charity case.”

“And I’m not running a fucking charity,” Hancock laughed. “Christ, you need something? You’re so on-edge.”

“Well, the costumed weirdo who runs a town of thugs -- and kills some of them for fun -- just staged an intervention for me and put me on retainer. It’s not my typical night.”

“Is _that_ the vibe I’m giving off? Shit.” Hancock adjusted his hat and sat back in his chair. “I am a weirdo in a costume, don’t get me wrong. But I don’t kill folks just for fun. I kill ‘em for chasing away the business and being dicks to our guests.”

Winter saw the glimmer in his eye. “And for fun,” she finished for him, a smirk on her lips.

“There is that,” he chuckled and crossed his thin arms behind his head, nudging her with a booted foot. “Come on. Are you game, or aren’t ya?”

The conversation was the first Winter had been part of that didn’t leave her longing to be somewhere else. She’d give him that. And he was right: This wasn’t living. This wasn’t _her_. She was made of hotter stuff than the embers she’d burned down to. Even if it hurt, she had to do something.

“All right,” she conceded. She stood, stretching her stiff arms out. “Give me the details and I’ll go learn how to be an art critic.”

Hancock stood too. He was shorter than her, she realized. God, she could throw him across the room if she wanted to. But somehow, he seemed like the kind of person you just… don’t fuck with. Too cool or too scary, she wasn’t sure. Somewhere in between. She just knew she wasn’t used to being on the _receiving_ end of that kind of vibe. It made her smile a little.

“Tell you what,” he said, regaining her attention. “Meet me in the State House in a couple hours, and I’ll fill ya in.

“What? Why so long?”

He bared his teeth in a devilish grin. “That’s about how long the memory I’m thinking of took.”

Before she could let that sink in, he laughed and brushed past her to get to Amari. He called over his shoulder as Winter turned to leave.

“Treat yourself to some Jet while you’re up there. Tell Fahrenheit I said it’s cool.”

“She’s just going to believe that?”

“Nah. But if you can deal with her, I’ll know you’re the real deal.”

And with that, his attention was on the fine doctor. Winter shrugged, feeling the knot in her back loosen a little as she did so, and stepped out into the evening air. After spending so much time in her fantasies, her fingers were itching for something real to hold onto. A gun or a bad guy seemed as good as anything, and if she could spill some blood that wasn’t hers to protect, she might feel like she’d done something worth a damn.

She owed Nick a visit, too. She’d been dodging him, and they both knew it. He was just… he cared too much, and she didn’t know how to handle that. Not now. Not yet.

So maybe this world wasn’t hers, but the one she lived in before hadn’t been too fond of her either. She wasn’t one to let that stand in her way. And somehow a freak in a tricorn hat snuck around the back and popped her bubble of avoidance, made her crave the fight of life again.

Maybe he was a pusher after all.


End file.
